


i'm alive, i’m burning

by lowfuellight



Category: Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Spider-Man (Comicverse)
Genre: (loose) self harm, Angst, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD, Suicidal Ideation, its about super heroes’ mental health..
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 11:16:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19744624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lowfuellight/pseuds/lowfuellight
Summary: “How are you?” he asked, in a lower voice. This time Johnny reacted. His jaw jutted out and his blue eyes looked upwards.“I’ll be fine,” is what he said. That was all.And Peter chose to believe him.johnny returns from the negative zone





	i'm alive, i’m burning

**Author's Note:**

> so this is like, what if the fact that johnny was trapped in the negative zone for two years was actually addressed at all (feat. spideytorch.)
> 
> this is my first spideytorch! i would only write this at 4am when i couldnt sleep. if its 4am where you are and you can’t sleep, i salute you. also, if you are reading this at any time: thank you. i hope you like it.  
> 
> 
> title from the song ‘burning’ by maggie rogers

_“You’re dead… You died.”_

_“More than once. Still better looking than you are.”_

-

Johnny was different when he returned. He moved with a purpose, his eyes hard, almost as if it had all been rehearsed. Peter recognised him either way (of course he recognised him), but this Johnny seemed bigger, somehow, filling every corner of his vision and blocking out the explosions and screams dotted throughout the building, throughout New York.

 _What the heck are you wearing?_ was the first thing Johnny had said. For a moment there, Peter was shocked into feeling as if he were the same Johnny that had left. The image of him had been paused four months ago, and was now kicked back into play.

It quite quickly became clear that wasn’t the case, but Peter clung to that familiar jibe while trying to keep his vision from blurring, his eyes burning hot beneath his mask’s lenses. A watery laugh did escape him moments before Johnny left to light up the sky. His stomach twisted and his legs felt weak. But he carried on. And Johnny did, too.

-

Peter’s whole body thrummed in the hours that followed. Johnny’s alive, Johnny’s alive, Johnny’s alive. As he fought he played the scene of his friend’s return over in his head, over and over and over, to make sure that it had been Johnny, and not some sort of trick, some shapeshifter or alien or who knows what. But no, Peter would know the Human Torch anywhere — even at the end of the world.

After it was all over, he went home. He tumbled in through his living room window, dust clouding his footsteps. The room felt stale, certain objects tilted to the side, a framed photo of Gwen, Flash, Harry, MJ and himself lying cracked on the floor. The building must have shook in all the commotion. The worried sounds of his neighbours filtered through the walls, and he closed his eyes, just for a moment.

He then called Aunt May to make sure she was alright. After that, he rang Mary Jane to confirm that he was fine — a little battered and bruised, but fine.

“MJ?” he said, his mouth dry. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and he tasted blood and sweat.

“Yeah?”

“Did you see him?”

There was a long pause in which Peter heard nothing but static, the sound of his own breathing. Shouts in the streets and clanging of pipes.

“Was it really him?” she said, then.

“Yeah. Yeah, it was.”

On the other end of the line, Mary Jane let out a breath. The soft sound rattled in Peter’s ear, echoed around his skull.

“I know,” he replied in a sigh. He rubbed his forehead, wincing a little at a tender spot there.

“How is he?”

“I think… I think he’s alright. I’m giving the Four space, you know. But I’ll visit.”

“Good. Now get some sleep. Please.”

“I will.”

He stepped towards the bathroom, as if in a daze. He peeled off his suit, deciding that he would hand it back the next time he went to Baxter. Or what remained of it, anyway.

His heart was beating two-time in his chest. The guy in the mirror looked terrible. His nose had bled, and there was an ugly smudge of blackened blood above his top lip. His left eye was swollen. And his eyes were wet. Touching the tears on his own face, Peter rooted himself to his reflection.

A rumbling erupted from him, and he wasn’t sure if he was laughing or crying as he leaned his forehead against the glass. Both, probably. Once his uneven, wet sobs had subsided, he rinsed his face with cold water before stripping and getting into the shower.

He didn’t remember making it into bed, but he woke up thrashing in his covers, images of monsters blacker than black staining the photograph in his living room. They ate up Gwen, then Flash. And they were growing. When Peter fought the images off by opening his eyes, his whole body ached and his skin was slick with sweat. He took another shower, then passed out on the sofa.

-

He didn’t know what day it was, but he put his Four suit in a spare plastic bag he retrieved from his kitchen cabinet, and head out sporting red and blue all the same. Outside, the sky was pink. New York was rebuilding, but another half were just moving around the debris, chattering away on their phones, heads bowed. Even a few Santas dotted the streets like poppies. The sight made something in Peter’s chest swell. It was going to be alright.

He thought of entering through Johnny’s window, like the old days, but something stopped him. Instead, he used his Baxter pass and got into the elevator. He had belonged here, not one week ago. But now he felt like had been awoken from a dream, or a nightmare. These fluorescent light rooms were no longer his, and he never thought even for a second to resent the fact. All he had been doing was holding a place, fulfilling a grim task. And now, under his mask, he didn’t have it in him to fight a smile.

“Peter,” Reed greeted when the elevator chimed open. He was sitting at the kitchen island, nursing a cup of coffee. He looked haggard, even more so than he usually did. He was wearing a bathrobe and poking at a screen. The bags under his eyes were impressive, and Peter vaguely wondered if his were as bad. He had never been good at sleep, and these past hours (days?) had been especially trying. He had begun to believe that seeing Johnny again would make him sleep easier, so, here he was. He pulled up his mask and approached his former teammate. Frank and one of the moloids sat in the corner of the living room, whispering conspiratorially over building blocks. Neither of them seemed particularly interested in his appearance, so he stayed focused on Reed.

“I, uh… came to drop off this,” he raised the bag and the older man squinted before his expression opened up.

“Oh, Peter, you can keep the suit.”

“I… I don’t want to.”

There was a pause, but then Reed nodded.

“I understand. You’re here to see him?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m afraid he’s—”

“Is he okay?”

“He’s healthy, yes,” Reed replied patiently. “But I’m afraid he’s still sleeping off his time… away. Susan is with him,” he said, rubbing at his face with his hand, “has been since it all happened. I think maybe it would be better if you waited, maybe another day at least.”

I have to see him. I need to.

“That’s great. I’ll stop by tomorrow, if that’s alright?”

“It’s perfect.”

Reed gave him a sad smile, and Peter left through the window.

-

Peter would readily admit that he felt more alive when he returned to the Baxter Building a day later. Today he could feel the New York winter seeping into his skin, instead of just letting it numb his limbs without protest as he moved across the city skyline. He had met up with Mary Jane earlier that morning and the sight of her alone was enough to comfort him after the dreams he’d been having. He was now more sure than ever that seeing Johnny would put everything into place again. He didn’t take the elevator this time, but he still entered through the living room. Today, Sue was lying on the sofa, stroking her daughters hair absentmindedly as Val read a book probably way too advanced for an eight year old.

“Oh, hey, Pete. Reed told me you were here yesterday.” She yawned right after finishing that sentence, and Peter, although unwilling to delay his time with Johnny, sat down on an armchair and put his hands together.

“How is everything?”

“Uncle Johnny’s been having nightmares,” Valeria said before her mother could speak. Instead of chiding her, Sue merely sighed.

“It’s been a rough few days. But we’re just glad to have him back. I never thought I’d see him again.” She laughed a little. “I’ve not been able to keep him out of my sight. I’m getting separation anxiety as we speak.”

“I understand. It’s… a lot.” Peter paused. “D’you think… d’you think he’s up to seeing me?”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be delighted. Maybe — if you can — get him out of the house? He’s… very pale…”

“Sure, Mrs. S.”

Sue gave him a strange look in response to the nickname, but smiled all the same.

“Peter,” she called out as he was leaving the room. “Thank you. For everything.”

Peter could do nothing but nod before entering the hallway. He could feel Valeria’s eyes on him all the while.

It lit up as he walked, and he swallowed down his anxiety as he got closer to Johnny’s room. He was terrified, he realised, that it would be empty, the way it had been for the past four and a half months. Months for him… two years for Johnny.

He entered Johnny’s room the way people jump into a pool. He hesitated at first, closed fist floating against the door, then decided to stop thinking about it altogether. He turned the handle and stepped through the doorway in one fell swoop.

Johnny stood by the window, and he didn’t turn at once. He was wearing a tank top and black tracksuit bottoms, his feet bare. Silhouetted against the New York skyline, Peter couldn’t help but wonder if this really was all a dream. Johnny looked like an apparition.

“‘Sup,” he said, breaking the silence. That was when Johnny turned his head.

“‘Sup?” he asked. And there he was, eyebrows raised and lips cracked into a smile. “‘Sup?”

“Yeah, I don’t know why I said that, really. I’m sorry.” Peter’s shoulders dropped, and it hit him: this was real, Johnny was here. “I missed you, man.”

Johnny turned around entirely, and only then did Peter notice the purple beneath his eyes, and the odd lines on his face.

“C’mere,” Johnny said, arms opened wide. He sounded as if he were spoiling a toddler, but Peter obliged gladly anyway.

The hug Peter had given Johnny right after he had come through the portal seemed like it was eons ago. His body hadn’t been his own, electrified by the fighting and by him, returning, all in one piece!

Now he swooped into Johnny’s open arms, bending to bury his face into Johnny’s shoulder and closing his eyes. Johnny’s arms quickly wrapped around his torso, but he only seemed to relax into the hug once Peter started to sway him, breathing him in. He smelled of indoors, of his own sweat. Peter noted that his hair was greasy. He was pretty sure he had never seen the Human Torch with greasy hair.

“I missed you, too,” Johnny whispered, voice muffled by Peter’s shoulder.

Peter held him tighter.

After a while, it became apparent that they had to part. Peter took the initiative. He lifted his head and Johnny followed suit, until they were both standing face-to-face.

“You look… not great,” Peter admitted.

“I feel like shit, so, figures,” Johnny shrugged.

“When was the last time you showered?”

Johnny gave him a bad impression of a smile. “Lay off it,” he said, shoving Peter’s shoulder playfully and moving past him to sit on the bed. “I deserve a little time off.” He began to tap his feet on the carpet and drumming his fingers on his rumpled sheets.

“I know, I know. Just...”

“Just what?” Johnny asked, eyes suddenly alight.

“It’s nothing. You’re right.” Peter waved a hand. “If anyone deserves to kick back, it’s you, pal.” He sat on the bed beside Johnny, and Johnny moved his own hand into his lap. “Hey,” he said, putting a hand on Johnny’s knee and shaking it. “You came back from the dead and saved the world from a horrific fate, and not for the first time! How does it feel?”

Johnny did not reply. Peter shifted with the tone, moved so as he was leaning into Johnny’s field of vision.

“How are you?” he asked, in a lower voice. This time Johnny reacted. His jaw jutted out and his blue eyes looked upwards.

“I’ll be fine,” is what he said. That was all.

And Peter chose to believe him.

-

After that day Peter found himself swinging past Johnny’s bedroom at odd hours of the night, eye out for his friend’s blond head in a sea of blankets. He had only stopped when Johnny caught him at it about two weeks later.

“I appreciate the concern,” he had said, leaning out of the window, “but you’re going to give me a heart attack. Do you know how freaky it is to wake up in the dead of night with a bug man peering through your window?” He had spoken oddly, then. Like he was reading lines from a script.

Johnny was different. The light in him was dimmer.

Peter knew he himself was different, too. The pain of losing Johnny replaced with the joy of having him back, but also, a dull aching in his chest, and a constant itching sensation in the back of his neck, like he couldn’t relax. Johnny was home, safe, all in one piece, and Peter felt his presence in the city like a second heartbeat. In fact, seeing him in danger during regular run-ins with the Four was better than not seeing him at all, because that meant he really was there and Peter could help him.

But these days Johnny didn’t seem to need much help. During brawls with science experiments gone wrong in Times Square and galaxy-threatening entities in the East Village, Johnny was eerily… incredible.

Not that he hadn’t been incredible before, no, not at all, he had always been amazing… sometimes even breathtaking. But now, he moved with a certainty and purpose that took Peter’s breath away, while also breaking his heart. The Four noticed, too, he could see it on their faces any time Johnny shouted out an order or blasted a beast no one, not even Peter, had seen coming. This new Human Torch was hyper-alert and his posture rarely slumped. Peter wanted to get near to him, hold him in his arms and feel him relax against him again. But whenever a battle ended, it was like alarm bells rang in Johnny’s head, time to leave.

After fighting a tentacled beast that had burst through the subway, most likely from some other dimension, Peter saw Johnny calmly walking away, arms slack at his sides, and hurried up to him until he was in front of him, walking backwards over rubble while Johnny kept moving forward. Peter been slammed into one too many a concrete pillar this evening, and it showed in his awkward limp.

“Hey, d’ya fancy coming over to my place, movie night?” he said, doing his best not to trip or fall. “Or I could come over to yours, your TV’s bigger anyway--”

“Sorry, Pete,” Johnny said, cutting him short. “I’m totally beat.” He flashed that weird smile again, the one that made something twist deep in Peter’s stomach, and patted his shoulder. “Some other time?”

It was hard not to feel like some highschooler being turned down for a date when Johnny just kept walking, his bewildered teammates watching him go while getting ready to speak to the press. Peter thought he caught a pitying look from Sue, but he ignored it, and instead watched Johnny light up and disappear into Manhattan’s skyline.

Ben slunk away from where the press was gathering and began shovelling rubble off to the side, although his clean-up plan didn’t make much sense to Peter. There was still rubble. Peter walked up to him, his footing unsteady, and Ben spared him a quick glance. “You alright there, Spidey?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Peter said, waving one hand, the other on his hip. “Hey, uh… how… you know, how’s Johnny doing?”

“Not great, Pete. But I bet you knew that already.”

The words felt like an accusation, and something heavy inside Peter dropped.

“Well, I mean…”

“He’s coping, Reed says. It’s him copin’.” He pushed aside a large piece of debri revealing a large purple tentacle underneath. “Reed’ll be wantin’ this, the weirdo.” He straightened, great dismembered purple tentacle in his arms, and paused in front of Peter. “Listen, Reed said to leave him be for now. Just treat him as always, you know. He’ll talk when he’s ready. But, ‘tween you an’ me… Torchie’s not the talking type. Not really. I’m hoping Sue can get somethin’ outta him, cuz last time I tried he threw a chair at me — on fire, mind you — and jumped out the window.”

“He…” Peter blinked under his mask, hard. “He what?”

Ben shrugged, and began towards Reed, who was done with the press and poking around the rubble, probably searching for things similar to what Ben was carrying. “At least he’s home,” Ben said over his shoulder, and Peter’s shoulders sagged.

He turned his head the way Johnny had left, traced where his flame had streaked the sky. At least he was home.

-

_7:32PM movie night?? theres a spot on my sofa i could totally free up for you. No big deal_

**8:52PM sorry, raincheck.**

**9:03PM busy**

-

_3:04PM (image)_

_3:04PM found this dog who looks just like you_

**3:43PM ha**

**4:12PM im prettier**

-

_10:12AM im near baxter. coffee?_

**1:03PM sorry overslept :/**

_1:06PM no worries. you free this evening?_

**2:14PM i promised reed i’d help him with some stuff. not sure how long it’ll take. you know reed**

_2:18PM you could text me when you’re done? im out swinging til late tonight_

**4:22PM this is gonna take a while. ill probably get an early night**

_4:40PM new york skyline misses you…_

_4:42PM and our zany antics_

**4:59PM new york skyline isnt going anywhere.**

**4:49PM cant text**

**5:00PM reeds freaking out**

**5:02PM talk later**

-

 _Reed_? What on Earth could Johnny be helping _Reed_ with? Peter had almost asked, typed out the message, but something made him delete it.

Peter was beginning to suspect Johnny was only even responding to his texts out of fear that if he didn’t, Peter would show up to make sure he was alright. He tapped his phone against his knee and looked out his window at the darkening sky.

Then came the Arthosian sighting in Central Park.

It was early morning, and Peter was awoken from his very uncomfortable sleep on the sofa by a breaking news broadcast interrupting the re-runs of Tom and Jerry that had been showing all night.

“Just as New York City was finally recovering from the terror brought on by interdimensional beasts just last month, we now alert you that there is a nest of bug-like creatures -- I’m being told they are Arthosians -- in Central Park, particularly the Central Park Zoo area, which certainly explains the recent disappearance of a few of the animals in the past few weeks. Ladies and gentlemen, please steer clear of the area as the correct teams deal with the issue at hand.”

The Four was already there when Peter arrived, the last of his sleep shaken off by his journey towards the makeshift battleground just across from the zoo. In fact, it seemed like Peter had missed the battle entirely. Sue was putting out flames in the surrounding area as Reed’s arm emerged from over the Zoo’s brick wall brandishing a hose, and Peter dropped down beside Ben, heart beating lous in his chest.

“What happened?” he asked, looking around for Johnny. Ben didn’t answer, simply kept looking forward. Peter followed his gaze and saw him. His suit was covered in black blood, his hair stuck to his forehead, and his face was someone Peter barely even recognised.

Amongst the charred remains of Arthosians, Johnny was knelt on-top of one who had escaped the flames and hitting it. Over, and over, and over.

Under his mask, Peter’s eyes widened, the breath torn out of him. Ben moved from beside him, over to where Johnny was punching the creature, sickening crunches filling the air around him.

“Johnny,” Ben said as he approached him. “Johnny! He’s not getting back up, c’mon.”

A noise errupted from Johnny’s throat -- it sounded like a shout, or maybe a sob. His punches faltered, then slowed, but still he didn’t stop. His fists fell onto the carcass over and over, like he was trapped, like he couldn’t stop. His face was covered in dark spots, and his eyes were red. Peter was rooted to the spot.

Ben finally sighed, his whole rocky body wrecked by it, and put his arms under Johnny’s, pulling him to his feet. “C’mon, Torch. It’s done, Torch, we’re done.” Johnny kicked for a moment, like a toddler being pulled away from a game console. Then he fell limp in Ben’s arms, body sagging and feet dragging across the floor. Still, Peter couldn’t move. He felt frozen. Sue was approaching the scene, her eyes wide with worry, and Peter thought that maybe he shouldn’t be here at all.

But then Johnny caught his eye, and straightened before looking back at the carcass. It was too hard a view to even stomach, a body torn apart and crushed by something awful and ugly caught in Johnny’s chest.

Johnny began to nod, over and over, looking at the floor ahead of him. “Yeah. Yeah,” he said, almost to himself. “Yeah.”

“Johnny,” his sister said, reaching out to touch him. But Johnny shrugged her would-be touch off and flamed on. They all watched him disappear into the sunrise. Then Sue broke into silent tears and buried herself in Ben’s chest.

-

It took Peter a couple of hours to gather the courage to visit Johnny. He had to, he knew that he had to. Johnny needed help. He wasn’t sure if he was the one who could give it to him, but he owed it to his friend to at least try.

He swung around the awakening city for a while until the sick feeling in his stomach died down. It wasn’t about the corpse; no, Peter had seen way worse— done way worse in his time. It was about Johnny.

After a swift change of clothes, he went for coffee with MJ. He didn’t tell her about anything Johnny-related, but just seeing her was enough of a comfort to him. She smiled softly and told him he looked exhausted, but didn’t pry. Part of Peter wished she would, but he understood why she couldn’t. At least not today.

After she left, he stayed in the shop for a while longer, then grabbed his backpack and headed towards a roof.

Johnny’s room was empty when Peter arrived at his window, but he was a man on a mission, so he let himself in.

“Johnny?” Peter called as he entered. Once inside, he could clearly hear the shower running in the add-on bathroom, and see steam coming out from beneath the door.

“Johnny!” he called again, pulling off his mask and approaching the bathroom door. He knocked on it with the back of his hand and leaned his back against the door frame. “You in there, buddy?”

The water stopped.

Peter could hear Johnny emerging from the shower and moving around in the next room.

“Johnny,” he said to the door. “I… I’m here for you.”

The door opened and Johnny stood there, staring at him, naked down to the waist where he wore a towel. His skin was pink and his hair dripping wet down his forehead and onto his shoulders.

His eyes, Peter noted, were slightly red.

“I can see that,” Johnny said in an even voice. He was meeting Peter’s gaze, eyes unblinking.

“Have you… how long have you been in the shower?” Peter asked. Johnny’s nostrils flared and he gave Peter a look of disdain before moving into his bedroom.

“Listen,” Peter tried again whenJohnny didn’t speak, following him towards his wardrobe. “I know I can’t know exactly what it is you’re going through, but you’re going through something, and keeping it all bottled up -- well, I do know that that’s not healthy.”

“Okay, okay, Peter Parker is going to talk to me about health,” Johnny said, pulling the wardrobe door between them.

“Hey, I’m perfectly healthy!” Peter replied, feigning offense. Johnny closed the door, now wearing a plain white t-shirt on top of the towel. It was tight-fitting, and damp in spots from the shower.

“I’m kind of tired, Peter. I appreciate the concern,” he didn’t, Peter noted, sound at all like he appreciated the concern, “but I think I’m gonna take a nap. We can talk later.”

Peter wasn’t sure what it was — Johnny’s tone, or the dead look in his eyes — but suddenly, something red and bright erupted in his chest and he was shouting.

“Okay, you _keep_ saying that! You keep saying that we’ll talk later, we’ll talk some other time! When will that be, Johnny? Because later might have been fine for the first days, and then maybe the first couple of weeks, but it’s certainly not gonna fly after your little performance this morning in the middle of sunny Central Park! And, yeah, I saw all of it! You didn’t want me to, but I saw it.” Peter’s face dropped, realisation dawning on him. “You were fine when it was just your family, but when I showed up… You don’t want me to see anything. You’ve been avoiding me,” Peter said, because it was true. And it hurt.

Johnny’s scowl dissipated. His forehead smoothened and his eyes looked big. Only now Peter could see the circles under his eyes, grey enough to rival his own, and he felt a twang of guilt blossom in the pit of his stomach.

“I haven’t. I just…” Johnny let his head lull back in resignation. “Maybe I have.”

“Why?” Peter pressed, unable to stop himself.

“Because,” he said simply. Then added, “I can’t tell you why.”

“Is it because of your hulk-out back there? Things like that? Because I totally get it, there have been times—”

“No,” Johnny scowled. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it? Why can’t you just talk to me? I can’t help you, Johnny, if you don’t talk to me! If you don’t let me see!”

Johnny reacted to that as if burned, and took a hurt step backwards, his head bowed down.

“Because— because it won’t come out, okay?” he said to the floor, then looked back up. “It’s like... it’s stuck in my chest. Everything… is stuck in my chest.”

Peter tried to decode the words Johnny was giving him, his eyes following the other man’s flailing hands. “I don’t under—”

“No, why would you?” Peter almost felt wounded, but then he realised that the jibe was at himself, not him. “I just... it hurts. To look at you.”

“To look at me?” _That_ wounded.

Johnny shook his head in frustration and backed away, near the wall beside his bedside table. “I can’t— no, stop,” he said, his hands out in front of him. “Listen, I’m sorry, but—“

“Johnny,” Peter said, walking over to him, ignoring Johnny’s hands that tried to halt him. Johnny knocked into the wall behind him, looking for all the world like a cornered animal. But Peter was glad for it. He felt like he was finally seeing his friend, his real friend, as confused and as hurt as he was. “Look at me. Johnny, come on.” He grabbed Johnny’s forearms and shook, not too hard, but not gently either. Johnny's wrists now hung limp, and his eyes were shut, almost as if he was sleeping. “Look at me,” Peter pleaded. “Look at me.”

A moment passed, and then another. And then, reluctantly, Johnny looked at him.

His eyes were blue, this Peter knew. But he had never looked at them like he was now, streaks of green and aquamarine swimming in his irises. Peter swallowed.

“This hurts?” he asked. His voice was quiet, soft, but he wasn’t sure why.

Johnny grimaced, jutting out his jaw, but didn’t reply, and didn’t look away. Peter’s hands were still each wrapped around Johnny’s wrists. He moved his right thumb slowly, absently stroking the veins that lay in the skin under it. He could almost feel Johnny’s pulse. Since their hug upon Johnny’s return, they’d been so far away from each other. They usually touched all the time, and it was always casual, unthinking. It was always comfortable. He wasn’t sure what this was. He searched Johnny’s eyes, something tugging on the pit of his stomach. Neither of them said a word.

And then he leaned forward. He didn’t know why he did it. In one fluid moment, Johnny’s arms slid out of his slackened grip and his hands held warm against Peter’s chest.

“No.” His voice was soft but his tone was firm. He was holding Peter at a distance, and Peter’s mouth was hanging open. He was in shock from something, but he wasn’t sure what. “No, no, no.”

Then Johnny shoved him. Hard. Peter stumbled back, caught off guard.

“What is wrong with you?” Johnny demanded, voice ripping through the silence.

“I— I don’t know,” Peter stammered, putting his hand to his forehead.

“You’re an asshole, Peter,” Johnny said definitely. “You know that? I love you, but it’s true.”

Peter dropped his hand. “You don’t hate me.”

“No,” Johnny sighed in frustration, “No, I don’t.”

And then he slumped against the wall, exhausted. Maybe he hadn’t been lying before, and he really did want a nap. Maybe this was all Peter’s fault.

“Can you just... can you just leave? For a while? I’m not... I’m not me. I need to sort some stuff out. I’m not sleeping, I don’t… I don’t recognise my own body. When I do sleep, I dream of being there, and when I wake up it takes me a while to figure out that this part isn’t the dream,” he was pointing firmly at the floor, his bottom lip trembling. “When I was there, I didn’t dream a lot… but I did dream."

When he didn’t continue, Peter took a step forward. “Johnny, I’m so sorry. I can’t help?”

“God, no. No. But it’s not your fault. It’s mine.”

He wasn’t making any sense, because it was now very clear to Peter that everything was in fact his own fault, but the desperation in his voice was telling Peter it was time to leave. He took a step back, bending to swipe his mask from where he had left it on the floor.

“Nothing is your fault, Johnny,” he said as he neared the window. He poured his heart into it, meeting Johnny’s eyes. “Nothing at all. I promise.”

Johnny let out a ghost of a laugh.

“Thanks, Pete.”

Peter couldn’t be sure he meant it.

-

He tried not to think of what had almost happened with Johnny. Whatever Johnny interrupted. Whatever Johnny had stopped him from doing. In fact, he tried not to think of Johnny much at all, because Johnny has asked him to give him space. So, listening to Johnny and respecting his wishes was the right thing to do. Right?

He was a fantastic friend.

He was a terrible friend.

That wasn’t exactly news to him, however. No matter the friend, no matter the relationship, he always managed to stick his foot in. Johnny was better off without him. That was just an objective fact. Besides, he had his family.

So he threw himself into his work and into fighting petty crime in New York’s back alleys. He kept his eyes on the ground and forbid himself from searching for streaks of fire in the sky.

If anyone asked, he was doing pretty good at it. When Susan Storm called him at eleven PM on a Tuesday, however, he webbed his phone and put it to his ear before the first ring had finished.

“Peter— Johnny’s not home—“

“I’m on it.”

Peter was up, suited and out of the apartment before Sue had given him the full details. Johnny had left early this morning without saying anything to anyone after a week of being locked up in the tower, of his own volition. He wasn’t answering his phone, and Sue was worried. Peter wondered if Johnny had told her about what had happened between them — a conversation gone awry, of course, nothing more — and if she was confiding in him in spite of it.

The first place he went, naturally, was to their meeting place. He wasn’t being conceited in thinking that Johnny would go to the only place that belonged solely to the two of them; that was just the first place he thought to go, the only place he knew Sue wouldn’t have checked already.

But Lady Liberty’s crown was empty and cold. Peter called out Johnny’s name just in case. He was met with silence.

He swung through the city for the next few hours, stopping by Johnny’s favorite spots, asking around, and looking out for any misplaced fires.

“You two have a fight or something?” asked a smoker outside of Johnny’s fourth favorite club. Spider-Man ignored him before zipping away.

“Sue,” he said through the mic in his suit. The sky was slowly growing lighter and the temperature was at its lowest point of the night, beginning to burn through his suit. “Any news?”

“No…” Sue replied. She sounded exhausted. “All I can think is that maybe he doesn’t want to be found.”

Peter set his jaw, looking down at the street from where he was perched. Rugged party-goers were heading home, taxis stalking the streets in search of customers.

“I’m sorry I bothered you. I just thought that maybe-“

“Hey, it’s fine,” Peter cut her off. He didn’t really want to know what she thought. “I understand. I hope he turns up soon, Sue. I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

“Thanks, Pete. Really.”

“You gotta stop thanking me, Sue. This is what families are for, right?” His voice almost cracked, but he caught himself in the last moment. He was just tired, was all. And worried out of his mind.

“Get some rest, okay?” Sue’s voice was soft. “We love you.”

“Love you, too,” Peter replied, and hung up.

By the time he arrived back at his place, he felt like he’d been dragged through a wash cycle… one of the really long ones. He pushed up his window with a quiet grunt and fell through, his whole body relaxing as soon his feet were back on home ground. The sun wasn’t up yet, but it was only a matter of time until it was. He pulled off his mask and yawned, eyes shut tight, and then noticed the person in his living room.

“Johnny?” he asked, staring over at the sofa where his blond friend sat, wearing jeans and a faux leather jacket, one arm flung over the back of it and his legs open wide. He was holding Peter’s favourite bag of frozen peas to the side of his face, but looked for all the world to be the same old Johnny Storm. He was still too thin, his eyes were still sunken, but he was holding himself the way he used to. And there was the familiar tilt to his voice when he said, “Took you a while. What happened to your spidey sense?”

Peter blinked. Hard. “You look like crap. How long have you been here?”

Johnny shrugged. “Couple of hours. You should really see about getting cable.”

It was definitely Johnny, of this Peter was sure. He was just about to say that Sue was worried sick, that the rest of the Four had been trailing him all night— but he stopped himself.

“What happened to your face?” he asked instead.

“Oh, nothing,” Johnny said lightly, readjusting his grip on the peas. “You should see the other guy.”

“Should I?” Peter asked wearily, inching closer. Johnny ignored what he was implying and waved his free hand.

“Just some asshole downtown.”

“What did he do?” Peter had the feeling it wasn’t petty theft, or anything of the sort.

“Geez, what is this, twenty questions?” Johnny huffed out in frustration. His shell cracked a bit then, and Peter was almost relieved. This at least meant that Johnny hadn’t totally lost it.

Peter sat down beside him on the sofa, and Johnny didn’t flinch. That was something. Peter’s leg rested beside his, and Johnny looked down at it. It wasn’t a panicked look, or an afraid one. He just looked.

“I’m an adult, you know,” he said finally. “I can go out.”

“We’re all worried about you. That’s all.” Peter found himself talking quietly, as if he were trying to avoid spooking a kitten.

“Yeah,” Johnny said, nodding to himself. “I know that.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been trying to get you to come over for… how long now?”

Johnny didn’t answer his question. He set the bag of peas on the coffee table, and when he turned to Peter he saw red skin and the beginning of a bruise colouring the other man’s cheekbone. There was no time to comment on it, however, because Johnny leaned forward and cupped Peter’s jaw with his hand. It was damp and cold from the ice pack. Time stopped. Heart numb.

Peter couldn’t say who kissed who. Sure, Johnny had moved closer, but Peter had caught his mouth with his, in agreement, an accomplice. He wanted to, he wanted—

Johnny’s face was pressed against his and Peter’s eyes were closed. His own hand found Johnny’s neck as the kiss deepened, his chest on fire, and he pressed against Johnny’s Adam’s Apple with his thumb.

His mind was blank, numbed to anything that wasn’t Johnny’s mouth on his, Johnny’s hand on his face, the other sinking into his hair. Coherent thought was lost to him entirely until Johnny broke away.

He didn’t go far, just leaned his forehead against Peter’s, the sound of his breathing rattling in Peter’s ears. Johnny swallowed, and Peter felt it under his hand. He didn’t dare move.

“I—“ Peter began. But Johnny shook his head and squeezed Peter’s bicep.

“Can you not talk? Please,” he added, and it split Peter’s whole chest wide open.

“Okay,” he found himself saying. And he kissed him again.

-

There were things Peter wanted to say.

_I love the way you feel. (I’ve never done anything like that before.)_

He understood now that Johnny had. Johnny was raw to him now, a layer stripped away.

_You're my best friend. You know me whole. (I used to know you. Let me know you again.)_

He stared at the back of Johnny’s head lying on his pillow, as if trying to unravel it.

_(I always imagined this differently.)_

Peter pressed his mouth to the nape of Johnny’s neck, the top of his spine. He didn't trust his words.

_I love you. Even now. More than ever._

Johnny rolled over, his eyelashes catching the sun that was coming through the window. He kissed the corner of Peter’s mouth, and then let Peter kiss him back. Why, why, why hadn’t they ever done this before? Kissing Johnny was like drinking sunlight. He was warm, always warm, and Peter got dizzy with it, melted into it. Was hungry for it. He could kiss Johnny for hours.

Johnny seemed to be aware of this. He put his hand on Peter’s chest and coaxed him away, albeit gently. It was enough to make Peter get a grip on himself, to return to the real world. It was midday, and they were in his bedroom, and there were still circles under Johnny’s eyes.

Johnny pressed one last kiss to Peter’s mouth. It was with closed lips, and it lasted a bit longer than a second. Peter wondered what it meant as Johnny sat up, his back flush against the headboard, Peter’s sheets around his middle.

Johnny, Peter had noted thousands of times before, looked good from any angle. If he were more modest, he might have blushed in thinking about the new angles he had only just learned of. Instead, he watched his friend carefully from where he lay, his own dark hair falling in his eyes. Over the span of a few hours, he found himself obsessed with Johnny’s body and the way it looked. His collarbones, sharper than they used to be. The planes of his chest, the shape of his shoulders, his arms. He knew that his friend wasn’t well, but he still looked beautiful.

“I need to get better,” Johnny said finally, looking straight ahead. “I’m not myself. And I need help.”

“That… that’s great,” Peter said, propping himself onto one elbow. “I mean… sorry. I’m glad that you’re… yeah.”

Johnny let out a short laugh through his nostrils, and turned his head slightly to look at Peter.

“I thought that I’d be over it. You know. A week, or two. That’s how it usually goes.” Peter’s stomach flipped, and Johnny looked down. “How it usually went… But I can’t move. Or I move too much. I don’t remember… before. What it was like before. What I was like.”

Johnny took a deep breath, and Peter sat up, budging closer to him.

“I don’t feel here,” Johnny said, voice cracking as Peter wove his fingers through his. “I feel like this is all a dream.”

“Hey. Hey, baby.” Peter lifted Johnny’s hand to his lips, and was sure he felt Johnny shudder. His friend’s eyes were shining, and Peter reached out to rub a thumb under his eyes, in an effort to stop the tears from falling. Johnny’s jaw was set in resilience, however, as if he himself refused to let them. “You’re here, okay? And I’m here with you.”

He pressed another kiss to Johnny’s knuckles, then placed Johnny’s hand on his own chest and patted it.

“I’m here with you.”

Johnny closed his eyes, his nostrils flaring. Then, he nodded.

-

The next time Peter saw Johnny, he was smiling.

Wyatt Wingfoot was at his side, tall as a mountain, and Peter felt a spur of jealousy that broke through the joy he felt at seeing his friend smile again. He pushed it back down, forced himself to fixate on Johnny’s bright eyes and the creases beside them.

He should have called Wyatt. He knew Johnny, perhaps even as well as Peter did. Perhaps even better, Peter bitterly thought. He should have talked to Wyatt, maybe, before sleeping with Johnny.

He was debating whether or not he should just keep swinging, minding his own business, but Wyatt spotted him before he could make a decision. He waved his giant hand from the sidewalk, and Peter just muttered, “Fuck it,” before dropping down in front of them.

“‘Sup, Spidey.”

“Hey, dude,” Peter said, shaking his hand. Dude? Even Wyatt’s hand was huge, swallowing Peter’s up whole.

“How’s it been?” the bigger man boomed, shaking Spider-Man’s hand enthusiastically. “Can you believe this guy?” he asked, nodding towards Johnny, who looked away.

“I can’t,” said Peter. “I really can’t.”

“I can’t stop staring at him,” Wyatt sighed. “You are a beautiful young man, Johnny Storm, you know that?”

“I think he knows,” Peter said, and Johnny scowled at him, probably for denying him the compliment. An electric current ran through Peter’s spine when Johnny’s eyes met his— well, eye glasses. He cleared his throat. “What are you two up to? Fancy dinner?”

“Actually-” Wyatt began, but Johnny cut him off.

“Sure we are. I’m hungry. Are you hungry?”

“Oh, sure. Spidey?”

“Spidey’s busy,” Johnny said. Peter opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“Uh, Johnny, can we talk?”

Johnny pulled a sympathetic face. “I’m kind of busy right now. We have a reservation.”

“No you do not,” Peter said at once.

Johnny rolled his eyes and sighed, his guard coming down.

“Later,” he said finally, the one word pronounced softly. Wyatt gave Spider-Man an odd look before following after his friend.

-

Spider-Man tapped his fingers against the glass of Johnny Storm’s bedroom. The lights were off, but he could make out Johnny sat up in bed, the light from his phone making him look ghostly. Johnny looked over at the noise but didn’t make a move.

From where he was stuck to the window, Peter called Johnny. A moment passed, then Johnny looked at his phone. Peter watched as he took his call and pressed it to his ear. That was something.

“You ready to talk?” He asked. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if Johnny said no. Leave, probably. Probably.

Instead, Johnny hung up (bad). But then swung his legs over the bed and approached the window (good… maybe).

See, Peter hadn’t actually thought about what he wanted to say. They needed to talk, sure, that much was clear. They’d been friends since they were sixteen, Johnny was currently extremely not okay in the mental health department and they had slept together. There was a lot to touch on, Peter felt. Maybe he was hoping Johnny would do the touching for him. Not- not that kind of touching. Or maybe. God, being here probably wasn’t a good idea at all—

Johnny was lifting the window open, looking at him in a way that told Peter he could see straight through Spider-Man’s mask and knew exactly what Peter was thinking right now. Peter wasn’t sure if he liked it.

“Webhead,” he said cordially. Peter couldn’t get a read on him.

“Matchstick,” he replied.

Johnny then stepped aside to let Peter crawl through, so, without giving it much thought, Peter did.

Once inside, he didn’t know where to stand. He had a feeling Johnny didn’t either. The blond’s arms were folded across his chest, and if Peter didn’t know him any better, he’d say it was aloof. But to Peter, it read as self-defense.

Peter opted for staying by the window, swinging his arms at his side.

“So…” he began. “Someone was rude today.”

“You were being weird,” Johnny replied haughtily.

“Oh, I was being weird? I’m not the one with a magical reservation,” Peter said, doing jazz hands.

“I told Wyatt.”

Peter froze, dropping his hands. “What? What did you tell Wyatt?”

Johnny raised an eyebrow, and Peter’s stomach jolted, the image — no, the memory — of Johnny laying beneath him naked and breathless flashing through his mind.

“He’s my best friend,” Johnny said. Peter ducked his head.

“Yeah, I know— Wait. I thought I was your best friend.”

Johnny rolled his eyes. “I’m just giving you a heads up. He’s pretty protective of me.”

“I’m protective of you,” Peter said, stepping forward. He watched as Johnny tensed, but didn’t stop moving until their feet were touching, until he could feel Johnny’s breathing in the air between them. “Is this okay?”

Johnny swallowed. “Yeah. It’s okay.”

Peter had forgotten he was still wearing his mask. He lifted his hand and tugged it off, dropping it to the floor.

Johnny didn’t take his eyes off of his face, eyes shining, moonlight lighting half of his features.

“Wyatt was right,” Peter said, crowding in closer. He put his hands on Johnny’s arms, coaxing them out of their bond across his chest. Johnny complied and placed his own hands on Peter’s biceps. His grip wasn’t firm, but it was something. Peter dropped his palms to Johnny’s hips. “You are beautiful.”

Johnny laughed softly, his arms coming up around Peter’s neck. “Please don’t bring up Wyatt right now.”

“You started it,” Peter mumbled against his lips. “But you do know that, right? That you’re beautiful?”

Johnny sighed, his breath warm, and closed the gap between them, drawing Peter against him, chest against chest. Peter steered him towards the window until Johnny’s back was pressed against the glass. As Johnny’s hands wandered through his hair and down his spine, he began kissing along Johnny’s jaw, clean-shaven now, unlike how it had been… well, before. His mouth moved along Johnny’s neck, his nose pressed to the skin there, breathing him in. Once again, his mind was clouding over, replaced by something animal he had never known was there— not like this, not for Johnny. Johnny Storm, the man he’d known since he was a boy.

Johnny gasped softly as Peter bit into his shoulder blade, and the noise sent a warm jolt straight to his groin. He pressed against Johnny harder, and Johnny dug his nails into the back of Peter’s neck.

“Wait,” Peter muttered, turning to look at Johnny’s face. “Do you do this with Wyatt?”

Johnny shoved him.

“You asshole.”

“What?” Peter asked, standing his ground as Johnny pushed against him fruitlessly, his hands bracing himself against the glass. “It’s a valid question!”

“Is it? That’s what you think of me?”

“I don’t know what to think of you anymore, Storm!”

Of all the things Peter had said in the past few minutes, that was probably the worst. Johnny’s eyes flashed, and then his expression hardened into one of stone.

“Get out,” he said. He sounded as he had in the minutes after his return, when he was throwing calculated orders at whoever stood before him. Cold. Deadly.

“Wait,” Peter said, dropping his arms and backing away, even though Johnny was no longer pushing against his chest. “I’m sorry—“

“Get out.”

“Johnny—“

Johnny launched himself at him and kissed him fiercely. Peter let him push him until the backs of his legs hit the bed, and then he fell and let Johnny climb on top of him. The Human Torch took off his t-shirt and threw it across the room, and it vaguely crossed Peter’s mind that this was a bad idea. Heck, it was three continents south of a bad idea.

“What did Wyatt say?”

Johnny let out a frustrated huff that was so Johnny it made Peter’s heart sing. “Can you stop— He said it was a bad idea.”

Peter nodded because he agreed, and then leaned up to kiss him.

-

Peter was sleeping with Johnny. A lot. It mostly happened spontaneously. Peter was on patrol and Johnny flew by. Johnny came over to watch a movie, or to take Peter up on his offer of Chinese. Or Peter would visit the Four, leave through the front door and then reenter through Johnny’s window. He still hadn’t stopped to figure out what any of it meant yet. He just knew that he liked making Johnny feel good. He never got any further than that. He never got into how he felt like it was both out of his control and in it at the same time; how he felt drawn to Johnny like a magnet; how he didn’t know if he could stop if he wanted to; how he hadn’t always known it was inevitable. Johnny was inevitable.

But Johnny was getting better. There was absolutely no doubt about that. He smiled more, opted out of Four missions when he didn’t feel he could handle it. He baked with the kids and went for runs through Central Park late at night. Of course, Peter wasn’t giving his bedroom skills all of the credit. Johnny had started going to therapy, just as Sue had been suggesting since he returned.

And, most importantly, he was talking about it.

“It was gorey,” Johnny whispered into the dark, his head resting on Peter’s chest. “It happened so many times. Even if I forget once, a have so many other times to replace it.”

Another time, sat cross-legged across from Peter on his living room sofa, he said, “I’m scared of what I did. What I can do. I don’t think I’m the same person.”

And Peter shared pieces of himself in return.

—

Peter awoke to pitch black and the sound of sobbing. It took him a moment to work out where he was, but the smell of Johnny surrounding him quickly clued him in. He threw the sheets aside, pulled on his boxers and padded towards the bathroom, following the slit of light that leaked from the door. The handle turned in Peter’s grip, revealing a pale-faced Johnny sat on the floor between the shower and the sink, wrapped in a towel, hair dripping wet, choking on his own breathing. The sink’s faucet was running, water spilling onto the floor. Peter pulled it off and skidded to his knees in front of him, shards of glass cutting into his shins and legs. Johnny had broken the mirror, and it lay glittering upon the bathroom floor.

“Johnny, Johnny, hey—” Peter said, reaching out to hold Johnny’s face, but Johnny shook his head out of his grip. His hands were bleeding, and he used them to beat Peter away.

“No, no, leave,” he said, barely able to get the words out. “Pete, please leave. Leave. Get the hell away from me!”

Instead, Peter kissed his forehead fiercely, despite Johnny’s efforts to kick him away, and said, “I’m not going anywhere. And neither are you, alright? C’mere.” He pulled him into his chest, their positions awkward but it didn’t matter. He ran his hand through Johnny’s wet hair until he stopped shaking, doing his best to stay solid himself. “You’re here, you’re here, you’re here,” he murmured, reminding the both of them of the fact.

“I’m here,” Johnny repeated shakily, and Peter had to clench his own eyes shut so he wouldn’t cry himself.

—

“I’m sorry,” Johnny muttered later after a big sniff. He and Peter had showered together and wiped the blood from each other’s wounds. Now, he was in dry clothes and allowing Peter to guide him back to bed, his eyes still red and puffy. His exhaustion looked bone-deep, and Peter ached in empathy.

“Don’t be,” he said evenly, laying down beside him. “Don’t ever be. You’re the bravest man I know, Johnny Storm.”

Johnny let out a small laugh, like Peter had told a joke. Peter wondered when Johnny had lost his self-confidence… or if he’d ever truly had it to begin with.

He wove his fingers through his and closed his eyes as Johnny did the same. Only when Johnny’s breathing slowed, a steady rhythm building in the air between them, could Peter relax. He wouldn’t be able to sleep again tonight — he’d had enough sleepless nights to recognize the itching in the pit of his stomach. He picked out patterns on the ceiling for as long as he could stand to, and then slowly released Johnny’s hand. The other man’s forehead was creased in his sleep, and Peter reached out to smooth it with his thumb. Then, quietly, he exited the bedroom with the finesse only a spider man could harness, not turning on any lights as he entered the kitchen in search of a glass of water. But a light buzzed on anyway, the way Peter suspected it would, as Sue sat in an armchair by the window wearing a robe and an expression so sombre it made the hairs on his arms stand up. Here he was, in her family’s kitchen, at an ungodly hour wearing nothing but boxer briefs. He knew exactly how this looked. It wasn’t wrong.

“Heyyy, Sue!” he said, his voice weak in his own ears. “You’re awake.”

“Yeah,” Sue said shortly. “Yeah, I am, Pete.”

“I, uh…”

“If I didn’t know how much you cared about him, we would not be having this conversation right now.” Her words were carefully measured, masking fury expertly contained. Peter swallowed, his mouth dry. He believed her. “In fact, even though I do know how much you care about him, you’re pushing your luck.” She didn’t stand up, and she didn’t raise her voice. She barely moved at all as she said, “Don’t you dare hurt my brother, Peter. Because you won’t have to worry about the villain of the month anymore. You’ll have to worry about me.”

Peter was frozen, unsure of what to do. “I won’t hurt him,” was what came out, and he blanched internally when it did.

“You don’t want to hurt him,” Sue said, under the guise of patience. “That doesn’t mean you won’t.”

To that, Peter had no answer. Her voice echoed through his head as he climbed back into bed beside Johnny, the blond man sighing contentedly when he did.

—

“Pete?” Johnny’s voice rang through Spider-Man’s headset. “You weren’t answering my texts—“

“Uh, yeah,” Spider-Man said breathlessly, ducking a punch from a haughty car thief with way too many gizmos. How come no one ever kept it simple anymore? “I’ve been kind of, uh, busy. Vigilante stuff.”

“Uh-huh…” Johnny said, not sounding convinced. “Are you alright? Are… are we?”

“Yeah, yes, no,” Spider-Man said, webbing the offender to the wall of the underground Walmart parking lot. There was a joke there, maybe. “Listen, Johnny,” he continued, turning away from the struggling crook and lowering his voice. “We’re fine, I promise. It’s just been a long week.” A silent whirring began behind him and he sighed. Way too many gizmos. “Listen I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

There was a slight pause, but then Johnny said, “Okay.”

“Love you.”

The second it was out of his mouth, Peter held his breath, his eyes wide open. The other end of the line was deadly silent.

Peter reached up a hand and clicked the button by his ear to hang up.

The car thief had freed himself of the webbing alright, but he wasn’t making any kind of move. Instead, he was staring at Spider-Man with a grimace on his face.

“Boy, that was more painful than your punch.”

Peter’s nostrils flared, and he knocked the guy out.

—

Peter was already at the Statue of Liberty when Johnny arrived. The sun was setting and clouds of neon pink slashed across the purple sky. Peter’s stomach was all nerves, and he couldn’t exactly put his finger on why. Johnny lowered himself beside where Peter was sat, heat radiating off of him until he flamed off, a bewildered smile on his face.

“Been a while,” was the first thing he said, in reference to the location. “What’s the occasion?” Peter could hear it in his voice, too. Nervous. They’d been sleeping together for weeks, and today they were nervous.

“I kinda wanted to, uh, you know. Get away from it all.”

“It all…?” Johnny prodded. Peter’s shoulders fell.

“Sue knows.”

“Sue knows what?”

“She knows, you know? She caught me, the other night, in the kitchen. And uh… yeah. Kind of—“

“Scared the shit out of you,” Johnny finished, seeming to relax a bit.

“Well, yeah,” Peter said. “She’s very scary.”

Johnny looked around at the setting, at Manhattan glittering across the water. “So we’re here hiding… from my sister.”

“I mean, when you say it like that… absolutely.”

Johnny laughed a little — Peter would never get used to that sound, not after he lost him — and leaned back on one hand.

“I guess that’s why she’s been looking more worried than usual.” He turned to glare at Peter in an uncanny impression of his sister, and Peter had to shove him playfully away.

“And you?” Peter found himself saying a moment later. “Are you worried?”

Johnny looked down.

“You know I’m better, right? I mean, better than I was.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, putting a hand on Johnny’s shoulder. “Yeah, I know.”

“Yeah. That’s, uh… I mean, my therapist, you don’t want to know what she’s said about it. But you’ve been there for me. Not just… It’s not just the sex, you know?”

Peter’s stomach swooped, the nerves starting up again. He couldn’t remember either of them referencing any of it outside of, well, the heat of the moment. He licked his lips, his mask rolled up over his nose.

Johnny began to play with his hands, linked together in his lap.

“Over there... in the Negative Zone. Sometimes all I could do was think, what is it all for? If I’m completely honest, I thought that before, too. But there, it was worse. I would be in that cell, waking up from having worms string me back together, getting ready to kill or be killed again.” He swallowed. “So I would think of the kids. Frank, and Val... and you, Pete.”

The air between them froze. Peter’s jaw slackened, his mouth dry. Johnny’s eyes were boring into his as he continued.

“I kind of… I don’t know. Expected something, when I came back. And that’s not on you, that’s on me. That’s all… all on me. But I’m better now,” Johnny said, then, with a shrug. “I mean, I have nightmares…” Peter nodded. He understood. Johnny nodded back and sucked in a breath before concluding, “You don’t have to... you don’t have to anymore.”

Now he broke eye contact, and looked back down at his hands. He was going for aloof, but Peter could see the act all over him.

“You love me. You’re in love with me.”

Johnny rolled his eyes, which were shining. “Yeah,” he said, in the same way you might say ‘duh’. “Since... since we were teens.”

“Since we were teens?” Peter looked to the side, out at the water, doing the math. “You didn’t even know me then. You hated me!”

“That suit of yours is pretty tight. I got a good idea of the type of guy you were. Underneath.”

“You…” Peter broke off into a laugh. Johnny laughed with him. The silence that followed the laughter wasn’t uncomfortable. Johnny’s legs were swinging underneath him as Peter tried to sift through the knots in his brain. Finally, because someone had to say something, he said, “You know I love you, Torch.”

Johnny nodded. “Sure. Sure I know that. But it’s not the same, is it?” In a small voice, he added, “Is it?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Johnny’s face changed, his eyes growing wide. Before he could say anything, Peter jumped to his feet and began to walk away, across Lady Liberty’s head. Just for some space. He reached the other side and then turned back, his arms behind his back. Johnny was standing too, on the edge of the crown, looking at Peter with a mix of confusion.

“You ‘don’t know’?” he said, doing air quotes with his fingers. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I don’t know! I love you, I do, you’re my best friend! And I missed you. Johnny, I missed you so much. When you were gone, you took a part of me with you. I don’t think you know that. Or if you did… well now you definitely do. And you— fine. I knew. I knew when you… when you were gone.”

Johnny hopped off of the crown.

“Knew what, Pete?”

“That you loved me. You left me your family, Johnny. Christ, who does that?”

“An idiot,” Johnny mumbled, albeit with a hint of levity.

“I wouldn’t have made it, I don’t think. Not without them. Not without you. For Johnny, I’d think. I’ll keep going for Johnny. He asked me to. And I have to. And I know that the Negative Zone… I know that was longer for you. I’m not comparing what you went through to what I did. Not at all. But, yeah. If you were thinking about me, then fine, I was thinking about you. Still am. I’m always thinking about you. So I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m in love with you, Johnny, but if I’m not, I’m this fucking close.”

Johnny’s lips were pursed tightly together, but an anxious laugh still shook his chest. He shook his head, a tear sliding down the side of his face, and he looked annoyed by it, goddammit.

“Oh,” Peter said, eyes widening. Johnny mimicked him in concern. “Oh no.” Peter put his hands to his forehead and turned around, looking up at the sky. “God, I think that did it.”

“You idiot.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter said, turning back around, “but I think that did it. Sorry. You might be stuck with me. Jesus Christ.”

“You asshole,” Johnny choked out, still shaking his head. Peter grinned and put his hands on Johnny’s hips, pulling him in closer as his heart thudded loudly in his chest.

“So they tell me.”

“I wish I wasn’t crying all the time,” Johnny said, blinking ferosciously.

“Shh,” Peter said, kissing the corner of Johnny’s eye. “You’re beautiful. And I love you.”

Johnny shook his head. “I hate you.”

“Sorry, but no takesies-backsies,” Peter said gleefully, shaking his head close to Johnny’s, their noses brushing together. Johnny looked up at him, his arms around Peter’s neck and his expression murderous.

“I’m serious, I hate-“

But instead of finishing the sentiment, Johnny kissed him.

And if Peter hadn’t already been sure, this would have sealed the deal. Johnny was ridiculous, and wounded, and funny, and stubborn, and brave. and sad, and happy, and Peter loved him. Every part.


End file.
